


Void

by SandM1827



Series: Son Shine [9]
Category: Sons of Anarchy, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, mentions of past suicide attempts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 15:32:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5591608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandM1827/pseuds/SandM1827
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Nogitsune pays Juice a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Void

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Warnings: Mentions of suicide attempts. Some violence may be considered domestic abuse and child abuse. Stiles is only seventeen so it's underage.  
> Gif Sets: [Sure Enough To Pull That Trigger](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/108986034649), [MRI](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/112933107724/son-shine-verse-mri-fic-void)  
> Set in the very beginning of Season 6 of Sons of Anarchy, after Tara is released from prison. For Teen Wolf it would be in the middle of the episode Riddled.  
> Nogitsune is often referred to as Void or It, because I did not want Juice to call it 'the thing' throughout the piece.  
> There may be a part two, no promises though.  
> The information I got for Frontotemporal Dementia came from here [x](http://www.ucsfhealth.org/conditions/frontotemporal_dementia/).

The first thing Juice noticed when he returned home, late in the night, was the unfamiliar car in his driveway. The second thing that caught his eye was the smear of red on the doorknob of his suspiciously unlocked front door. It was more than enough to put him on edge and have him drawing his gun as he stepped inside the house.

The lights and TV were on, both of which he had switched off before he left that morning. There was a rustling coming from the kitchen, followed by a loud bang and crash, and a voice cursing loudly. He clicked the safety off his pistol, prepared to fire if necessary, as he rounded the corner to the other room.

“Son of a bitch.” The younger man muttered to himself as he crouched on the floor, picking clumps of spaghetti noodles off the tiles.

“Stiles.” The sound of his voice had the kid jumping back in alarm.

“Shit! You scared me.” Stiles chuckled, grasping his chest dramatically.

“The feeling’s mutual.” He lowered the gun, ensuring the safety was back on before he returned it to the waistband on his jeans. “What are you doing here?”

“Making dinner.” He gestured to the meat sizzling in a skillet on the stove.

“I can see that.” It was unexpected, but altogether not that odd. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“Surprise?”

“Is there a reason for it?” The last he knew, he and Stiles were supposed to be keeping a measured distance from each other.

“Nope.” Stiles shook his head and sauntered over to him, intent written in his gait. “I just wanted to see you.”

The younger man grasped Juice’s face between his hands, smashing their lips together enthusiastically. He responded instinctively, tilting his head and deepening the kiss. Stiles nipped his bottom lip, forcing his mouth open and tangling their tongues together. Juice’s hands went to Stiles hips, guiding him closer until they were flush against each other.

He brought his hands up to roam beneath Stiles shirt. He ran his blunt nails over his treasure trail of hair, upward to tweak Stiles nipples, grinning when he shivered at the contact. Stiles took one hand from his face and brought it to the small of Juice's back. He dipped his fingers below the elastic of his boxers, massaging his ass in a way that had him thrusting their hips together.

It was clear from how hard Stiles was beneath his jeans that he was more than ready to move things along already, and Juice was more than onboard with that plan. He wanted to strip them both out of their clothing and bend Stiles over the countertop. It would not be the first time they had used the hard surfaces of the kitchen to replace a soft bed or couch. However, it was the first time the fire alarm gone off while they were trying to be intimate.

“You were cooking.” He stepped away, putting space between them before they could start up again while a pan of over-cooked ground beef was still on the stove. “You should do something about that.”

“Yes, I should.”

Juice moved to get a beer from the fridge as Stiles returned to fixing dinner, taking a long swig of his drink as he leaned against counter. He thought about offering to help, but was content just to watch. His eyes trailed the younger man’s body, from his overly gelled hair, down his back, and to his arms.

“You sick?” He questioned as he noticed the band around Stiles wrist. “Hurt?”

“No.”

“Why are you wearing a hospital bracelet?” The only way he could've acquired that was if he had recently taken a trip to the ER.

“Hmm?” Stiles glanced absently at the offending object. “Oh, it was just a lacrosse accident.”

“Lacrosse?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re in cross country.” Juice had an hour worth of text messages from Stiles dedicated to how much he loathed the sport. “Lacrosse season is over.”

“Scott and I were practicing for next season.” The quick explanation sounded like a lie to Juice's ears.

“Huh.” Normally, he might ignore a fib about something as trivial as sports, but there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that kept him pushing for answers. “Whose car is that out front?”

“A friends.” Well, that was specific.

“Where’s the Jeep?”

“It was acting up.” Wasn’t it always? “I didn’t feel comfortable driving it.”

“Did you drop it off at TM?” Juice already knew he hadn’t, seeing as that was where he had just come from.

“No. I took it to a mechanic back home.” If alarm bells weren’t already going off in Juice’s head, then that simple statement had them ringing now. “It’s probably the alternator again.”

“The alternator.” If there was a problem with the Jeep, he was sure that was not it. “Didn’t you and Jax switch out the alternator last month?”

“Did we?”

“Pretty sure you did.” Working on the Jeep was something the brothers could do together. It kept them busy while they mourned Opie. “Something going on at home?”

“Nope.” Stiles shook his head. “Why do you ask?”

“I had a couple missed calls from your dad earlier.” He was too busy to answer them at the time, and when he was finally free to do so it was too late to return the calls.

“Oh, that was nothing.” He brushed off the concern. “I lost my phone. He was trying to get a hold of me. He must have called you looking for me.”

“Must have.” He was fairly certain Sheriff Stilinski would have called Jax or Tara first. “You ever find your phone?”

“Yeah.”

Juice took in Stiles relaxed posture for moment as the younger man leaned forward to turn off the stove. There was something very wrong about his movements, his voice. He was too still, trying too hard to act as if everything was normal. It was like a puppet pretending to be human.

“I’m going to put my stuff away and wash up.” Juice told him before making his way down the hall.

He came to a halt just outside his bedroom, stopping in front of a table that held a dying cactus. He opened the small drawer of it as quietly as he could, carefully pulling a small vial from it. He poured the contents in a straight line, from wall-to-wall, before continuing on to his room.

He kept a stash of wolfsbane bullets tucked away in a box beneath his bed. A gnawing feeling in his gut had him removing them from their hiding place, and replacing the ammo in his gun with the specially made stuff. He barely had enough time to lock the clip into place before he heard footsteps coming from the kitchen toward the bedroom, only to stop short.

“Mountain ash. Nice touch.” Stiles, or whatever it was, praised him. “It won’t keep me out for long, though.”

“And who are you?” He set his shoulders and aimed his gun toward the door as he took a few tentative steps toward it. “ _What_ are you?”

“I’m Stiles.” Juice was ready to call bullshit when he crossed over the threshold to have a look at the thing posing as Stiles. “Maybe a little more supernaturally enhanced then usual, but that was bound to happen one day. When you run with wolves sooner or later you’re gonna get bit. Don’t you think?”

“Not really, no.” Stiles was too smart to get bitten on purpose and too handy with a gun to allow a rogue alpha to bite him. “Move. Now. On the couch.”

“We’ve never played power games before.” The thing wearing Stiles face smirked. “Should I strip first?”

“Sit down.” He ordered harshly, jerking his weapon toward the sofa.

“Relax.” It advised as it did as it was told, dropping down onto the couch. “We’re all friends here. _Lovers_ , in our case.”

“What are you?” He repeated the previous question, needing to know what Stiles had gotten himself into this time.

“I’m St-“

“You’re not Stiles.” It couldn’t be Stiles.

“Are you sure? Sure enough to pull that trigger?” His finger faltered on the trigger in that moment. He hesitated, only for a second, but it was enough time for an ugly sneer to appear on Stiles face. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

It sighed, as if it were disappointed in him, before it climbed to its feet. Juice took a cautionary step back, his fight or flight instincts obviously choosing the latter. Stiles evil twin stalked toward him, backing him against the living room wall. He lifted the gun once more, only to have long fingers grip his wrist and slam it roughly into the wall, causing the weapon to clatter to the floor.

“We both know you won’t shoot me.” It loosened its hold on Juice’s wrist until it was caressing the skin of it, mimicking a gesture Stiles would make to comfort him. “You’re too scared of hurting him.”

“Where-“

“ _Is he?_ He’s in here too.” The thing wearing Stiles face dropped all pretences of being someone else as he spoke. “And, oh, he’s got it bad for you. And me? I am very impressed.”

Juice didn’t have time to think about what that meant, when in the next moment he was being manhandled. With strength the real Stiles definitely did not possess, Juice was pulled from his place on the wall, and shoved into the armchair beside it. He barely had a chance to take a breath before it was straddling his lap.

“No!” He shoved his arms out, pushing uselessly against its chest.

“Calm down, sweetheart.” Its soothing tone was a stark contrast to the provocative pout on his lips. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re lying.” There was no other reason for it to be there. This thing, whatever it was, did not stop by his house just to have a chat. “Just get it over with.”

“Not so fast. I mean, yes, I am going to kill you.” It said _kill_ the same way Stiles said _kiss_ , the suggestive tone making the hair on the back of Juice’s neck stand on end. “I just want to know what gave me away. No one else has figured it out. Daddy thinks he’s sick like mommy. When Stiles told Scotty-boy that he was the one who put the kitsune in a killer’s crosshairs, Mr. True Alpha told him to go take a nap. This kid can’t even tell people he’s not himself and have them believe him.”

Juice didn’t believe that. The change was too obvious to miss. Those closest to Stiles were being willfully ignorant to it. It was easier for them to believe Stiles was sick or suffering from insomnia, than it was for them to see that something was seriously, supernaturally, wrong.

“So, what was it? You knew something was up a few minutes after walking through that door.“ It brought a hand up to graze its fingertips over the skin of Juice’s neck. “What tipped you off? The way I talk? The way I kiss?”

“You’re just wrong.” He didn’t even have to look that hard to find the difference between Stiles and the thing inhabiting his body. “You’re too _still_.”

Stiles was always moving in one way or another. From the wild flail of his arms to the subtlest tick of his jaw, he was in a constant state of motion.

“You have an answer for everything, but it’s never right.” Juice could tell just from the arrangement of words that it was not Stiles speaking.

If he asked a question, it would give him a cheap lie for an answer. Stiles could come up with a detailed and well thought out lie off the top of his head. His Stiles could probably fool the most skilled interrogators in the world. This thing could not even pass Juice’s bullshit meter.

“You are not him.” It might be Stiles body, his face, his voice, but it was not him. “Where is he? What did you do to him?”

“I told you, he’s in here with me.” It rolled its body, working out the kinks. “He’s not quite aware. This is all just a dream for him. Truth be told, he’s chasing magical trees. He doesn’t see you, only darkness and nightmares.”

“Darkness, like a scar…” Juice murmured the words Stiles had said to him a week or so before, while he was telling Juice about his father’s kidnapping and the ice bath he took to find him. “You’re a manifestation of the darkness?”

“Something like that, yeah.” It nodded. “ _Void_ is closer to the truth.”

“And the others? Do they have their own versions of you?” Stiles had not been the only one to drown that night. Scott and his hunter girlfriend had as well.

“No. No, they were nowhere near strong enough to handle something like me. Stiles, though, oh, he was everything I was looking for.” The unmistakable pride in Void’s voice was better suited coming out of the mouth of a lover or spouse. “So much anger and resentment pushed down. So much _hate_ he keeps locked away. It needs to come out. I want to help him bring that out.”

The hand settled on Juice’s neck suddenly curled around it. He did his best not to panic as the flow of air into his lungs was restricted by fingers squeezing his windpipe. He lifted a hand of his own to grip one of Stiles wrists, it was more of a kneejerk reaction than it was an attempt to push the thing away or forcefully rip its fingers from around his throat.

“His strength comes from all that anger.” Void’s nails bit into the skin of his neck and, for a second, Juice could have sworn silver coated its eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “They’re making this easy for me. I can stand by their side’s everyday and not one of them will see. They will all die by his hands and they will never see it coming. They don’t see it. They don’t see him.”

“I see you. I see _him_.” He saw Stiles, just like he always had.

The thing inside Stiles body said that younger man could not see him, but it also said Stiles was still in there somewhere. Fortunately, for Juice, sight was not the only sense on the board. He knew he could not overpower something with supernatural strength, but that did not mean all hope was lost. All he had to do was find a way to get Stiles to _hear_ him.

“Stiles,” Juice choked out, struggling to breathe with hands clasped around his throat. “Stiles, listen to me.”

“Stiles isn’t here right now.” Void reminded him, hands tightening a fraction.

“I’m looking at him right now. He can't see me, but he can hear me.” He inhaled deeply, trying to take it what little air he could. “ _Stiles_ , listen to me. Just listen to my voice.”

“Oh, that’s adorable bordering on disgustingly corny.”

“Stiles, you’re not asleep.” Juice ignored its comments, tried to focus on Stiles. “You’re awake.”

A flicker of emotion crossed over Stiles face, unlike anything the ‘darkness’ had shown him. The hand around his throat loosened its grip by the barest amount, fingers twitching against his skin. It was small, but more than enough to let Juice know he was getting through to him.

“Stiles, you’re awake.” He repeated, brushing his thumb over the pulse point on Stiles wrist, feeling it jump under his touch. “You’re here with me. Be here with me.”

The reaction to those words in particular was instantaneous. The contempt mixed with amusement that Void had kept on Stiles face, was replaced by anger and then fright. A glance to the younger man’s eyes found them clear and focused in a way they had not been before.

“Stiles?”

Stiles gaze drifted from his face to where his fingers were wrapped around Juice’s neck. He whined pitifully, jerking away. He stumbled off Juice’s lap and onto the floor, crab-walking until his back made contact with the coffee table.

“Hey,” Juice moved slowly as he followed Stiles path, careful not to spook him. An audible sob escaped Stiles mouth when Juice came to crouch in front of him on the carpet. “Stiles, it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.” Stiles whimpered, curling his legs up to his chest and burying his head in his palms in an effort to hide away.

“It wasn’t you.” His body or not, Juice would never blame him for the actions of another. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I don’t know what’s happening.” The level of terror in Stiles voice was something Juice had never heard before. It broke his goddamn heart. “I’m losing my mind.”

He wanted to deny it, to offer Stiles some kind of comfort, no matter how small, but he knew it would not be welcomed. Stiles didn’t need false hope or an empty gesture. He needed the truth, but first he needed to be calm.

“Stiles, I need you to just be here, okay?” He reached a hand out to touch Stiles knee, wary of startling him. “Can you look at me?”

“I could have killed you.” Stiles muttered, not lifting his head as Juice asked him to. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” He had a chance to shoot first, the moment he became aware that the man in his kitchen was very much not who he claimed to be. “I know you’re freaked out, but I need you to talk to me, and to not have a panic attack. I’m not sure _I_ can handle that right now.”

“I won’t have a panic attack.” He did not feel the least bit reassured by that until Stiles looked up to meet his eye.

“I know you said you didn’t know what was going on,” There could be multiple meanings behind that statement. “But do you know where you were before this? Do you know how you got here?”

“No, I don’t know. I don’t…my Jeep?” He shook his head, causing Stiles to furrow his brows in confusion. “I don’t remember coming here. I…”

“How about where you were before?” Juice moved his hand from Stiles knee to the hospital bracelet. “Were you at the ER?”

“Y-yes. I think…maybe. Yeah.” The younger man smacked the side of his head in frustration. “M-Melissa found me. She found me and took me to the hospital.”

“She _found_ you? Where the hell were you?”

“The preserve. A coyote den, I think. I didn’t know…” Stiles sent a curious glance to his ankles. “There was a bear trap on my leg.”

“What?” Juice quickly pulled up the fabric of both Stiles pant legs, expecting to find a bandage or a bloody mess. “Stiles, there’s nothing there. Your legs are fine.”

“I _thought_ there was a trap. I could feel it on my leg.” His voice shook as he spoke. “Then he said- he said it was on a different leg. Then it was gone.”

“You’re not making sense.” To be honest, he hadn’t made sense all night. “Who was with you?”

“I don’t know. He kept calling us _We_. He said he was trying to save us, to keep the hypothermia at bay.” Stiles body shivered unconsciously. “It wasn’t a den, though. It was a basement. It was only a coyote den when Melissa found me.”

“Melissa found you and took you to the hospital.” That explained the hospital bracelet. “What happened when you got there?”

“They made me sleep. They _sedated_ me.” He spit out the words like they were dirty, vocalizing his disdain for being given sedatives. “They were going to scan my head in the morning. That’s all I remember.”

“Then we need to get you back to the hospital.” It was clear that whatever was going on with Stiles was more supernatural than anything, but that did not mean it was entirely supernatural. “Your dad probably has the whole police force out looking for you.”

He pulled Stiles up with him as he stood. With a newly unrestricted view of Stiles face, he could see the pain and fear written over his features. There were dark bags beneath his eyes, and his skin was cold to the touch, prompting Juice to grab his hoodie off the arm of the couch and drape it around Stiles shoulders until he was properly cocooned in it.

“What’s that smell?” Stiles asked suddenly, his face scrunching up in distaste.

“That charred meat smell? You were cooking dinner.” Although the burners had been switched off, the scent still permeated through the small house.

“I was cooking at,” The younger man glanced at the clock on the wall. “Three-thirty in the morning?”

“Not the first time that’s happened.”

“Yeah, but the other times were to feed an after-sex craving.” It was a meal made to get their energy up for round two or three. “We didn’t have-“

“No. We didn’t.” Juice assured him. “I came home late and you were in the kitchen making spaghetti.”

“Oh. Okay. Good.”

“We need to get going.” They had a two-hour drive ahead of them. “You don’t know how you got here, so I guess you don’t know where that car out front came from.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Okay. I’ll take care of it.” He hoped the owner had insurance, because he was not getting it back. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. We’ll call your dad when we get close to Beacon Hills.”

Stiles didn’t seem to have any objections to that plan, just allowed himself to be led out the door. Juice was thankful that he’d decided to drive the van home, rather than taking his bike, he doubted Stiles was up for riding bitch in his state. The passenger seat of the van was a much safer option.

He made sure the younger man was securely in the vehicle before his curiosity got the better of him and he took several steps toward the unfamiliar car in his driveway. The Mustang wasn’t really Stiles style. It was too new, too flashy, well taken care of in a way the Jeep never could be. Someone obviously put a lot of time and energy into the upkeep.

The door was unlocked when Juice tried the handle, and the keys were still in the ignition. The bloody handprint on the steering wheel drew his gaze. He took extra care to keep from touching anything as he leaned over the front seat to peek into the back, finding a tire iron coated in red lying haphazardly on the floorboards next to a hospital gown that held a similar stain.

“Fuck.” He cursed as he saw the faded BHMH stamp on the arm of the gown.

“Juice?” Stiles voice was too loud to be someone who was tucked away in the van. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He pulled himself out of the car and slammed the door shut before the younger man could catch a glimpse of what was left inside. “Just, uh…”

His thought trailed off as he noticed what Stiles was wearing for the first time. The shirt he had on beneath Juice’s sweater was an off shade of white with paint blots scattered across it. The jeans were a few sizes too big, sagged lowly on his hips, and dragged on the ground. His feet were bare, save for muddy socks. They weren’t Stiles clothes and Juice wanted to smack himself for not seeing that sooner.

“Y-you need to change.” He thrust his keys into Stiles hands. “Your clothes are still in the middle drawer of my dresser. You can borrow a pair of my boots.”

“Why do I have to change?” Stiles made a move toward the Mustang, feinting left in an attempt to see around Juice.

“Hey. No!” He maneuvered to keep himself between Stiles and the car, knowing that Stiles seeing the contents of the vehicle would only make things worse. “Just go change. Leave the clothes you’re wearing in my bathroom. I’ll take care of them when I get home.”

“Take care of what? Juice, what did I do?” The younger man pleaded for answers that Juice didn’t have. _“What did I do?”_

“I don’t know.” He could make an educated guess, assault with a deadly weapon or murder, but he would not put either in Stiles head until he was sure. “Go change. Okay?”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna make a call.” He needed to contact someone to pick up the car. If there was BOLO out for it, he did not want anyone to find it on his doorstep.

“Don’t tell Jax about this. Please. I don’t want him to worry.” Stiles chewed his lip nervously, unsure if Juice would be willing to keep whatever this was a secret. “Or the club. You know if they found out, they would tell Jax. Please don’t say anything.”

“I won’t tell anyone.” However, without the clubs involvement, moving the car would be that much more difficult, but he would get it done. “I promise.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

 

Stiles remained quiet throughout most of the drive. Juice didn’t try to engage him in any conversation, content to let him rest. Although, restful was not exactly what he would call Stiles current state. He was twitchy and tense, constantly picking at the strings of the hoodie or pinching the skin of his arm. He seemed hell-bent on keeping himself awake.

“Frontotemporal Dementia.” Stiles said, speaking for the first time since they loaded themselves into the vehicle.

“What?” Juice took his eyes off the road for a moment to see if Stiles was talking to him or himself.

“Frontotemporal Dementia.” The younger man repeated as his head lolled against the window. “It’s what my dad thinks is wrong with me.”

“Dementia…” It seemed unlikely, given Stiles age. “Why does he think that?”

“He’s seen it before, with my mom.” Stiles breath hitched as he spoke of his mother. “It’s what she had. It’s what killed her.”

Juice had known Claudia Stilinski had died. It happened a few short weeks before he met Stiles. He never asked how, it wasn’t his place. Now, he couldn’t help but wonder what the woman had gone through with her illness, what could be in store for Stiles in the near future.

“I’ve seen pictures of your mom. She was young.” In the photographs he had spotted around the Stilinski house, the woman had to have been in her late twenties or early thirties when the last ones were taken. “Doesn’t dementia usually present in older people?”

“Frontotemporal is the only kind that can affect teenagers.” Stiles explained. “It’s fucked up, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“I always thought if I got a disease like that, it would Alzheimer’s, ‘cause of Nate.” He did have a genetic predisposition for it, Nate being his biological maternal grandfather. “What are the chances that I would get the same disease as my mom, who I share absolutely no DNA with?”

“You don’t know that’s what’s wrong with you.” There was no conclusive proof of it yet. “I don’t think you’re sick, Stiles.”

“Well, I’m something.”

“It’s supernatural. Partially supernatural, at least.” Juice’s fingers flexed against the steering wheel as he decided Stiles needed to know some of what happened earlier in the evening. “It spoke to me.”

“What did?”

“I don’t know what it is, but it called itself Void.” He wished he had all the answers for Stiles. If he knew exactly what it was then he could figure out how to fight it. “I think I know how it got inside you.”

“Inside me…” The younger man shuddered at his wording. “How?”

“That ice bath.” His voice tightened as he remembered Stiles telling him he had technically been dead for sixteen hours after letting himself be drowned. “The vet, Deaton or whoever, said you guys would be left with a darkness, right?”

“It’s an emotional scar or something. Not an actual darkness.” Stiles shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “And Scott and Allison haven’t been losing their minds, like I am. I mean, okay, Scott had some trouble with his control, but that’s to be expected, he’s adjusting to his new alpha powers. And, okay, yes, Allison had a few visions of her dead aunt, but nothing like what’s going on with me.”

“Maybe I’m wrong.” He really hoped he was wrong. “I just want you to be aware of the possibility, in case the doctors don’t find anything.”

“So, parts of my brain are shrinking or I’m being controlled by some kind of evil spirit.” Stiles glowered at his reflection in the side mirror. “Either way, it’s only a matter of time before I’m dead. The real question is, how badly am I going to hurt the people I love in the meantime?”

“Stiles-“

“I think I went out there to die.” The younger man admitted as they turned into the parking lot of Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. “I must have. It’s the only reason for me to have gone all the way out to a coyote den on the coldest night of the year. My subconscious was doing what it knew had to be done.”

“You do not need to die.” Juice’s temper flared at the thought of Stiles dying. The squeal of the brakes when he pulled into an open space and threw the van into park acted as an outward expression of his anger. “You don’t get to die, not like that.”

“I could have killed you tonight.” Stiles reminded him. “God knows what else I’ve done that I don’t even know about.”

“That’s not your fault.” He could not be held accountable for things he had no control over. “You weren’t…you.”

“It was my body, my hands.” He clenched both his hands into fists, glaring down at them as if they had purposefully betrayed him. “They hurt people. _I_ hurt people. I hurt you. What if I hurt someone else? What if I hurt my dad? What if I hurt Abel and Thomas?”

“You won’t.”

“Jax and Tara leave me alone with them all the time.” Stiles body began to tremble in fear that he would harm his nephews in any way. “I c-can’t be around them. I can’t be around anyone.”

“You can’t isolate yourself.” That would only make the situation worse. “You didn’t kill me, Stiles. You stopped yourself. I told you to wake up and you did.”

“The boys won’t know to do that!”

“Then you won’t see the kids until you’re better.” And he would get better, one way or another, Juice was sure of it. “Let’s not make any rash, potentially suicidal, decisions until we are absolutely sure what’s going on.”

“Suicidal decisions…” Stiles scoffed. “That’s funny coming from you.”

“You remember how you felt after you found out about my attempt?” Stiles had tried so hard to hide his sadness, his anger, and disappointment as he cared for him in those days, but Juice could see it all when Stiles thought he wasn’t looking. “You gonna make me feel that? Or, you know what, no. Don’t think about that. Think about your brother. Opie has barely been in the ground two months. Jax can’t lose you too. It’ll break him.”

“He’s already broken.” Stiles muttered under his breath. “And before you bring up my dad, you should know I would rather him grieve my death, than put him through the pain of watching me waste away.”

“Your dad won’t grieve your death. He’ll die right along with you.” Juice corrected harshly, knowing how much John loved and cherished his son. “But it doesn’t matter, ‘cause you’re going to be fine.”

“You really believe that?”

“Yes, I do.” He would not accept anything less than Stiles being healthy and entirely himself. “Let’s go prove me right.”

“Wait.” Stiles stopped him with an arm across his chest. “You’ve gotta lose the kutte.”

“Uh, okay.” It was an odd request. Stiles had only ever asked him to do that during sex, not when they were out and about, even in Beacon Hills.

“You see that SUV sitting over there?” Stiles nodded toward the black one with federal plates parked in the red fire-zone near the building’s entrance. “That belongs to Special Agent Rafael McCall. Scott’s dad. He has been using every single thing he can find to get my dad fired. He sees me rolling up with some guy rocking reapers and skull tats…”

“Right.” The guy would use Stiles connection to a biker club against John. “No kutte.”

He shrugged out of his leather, draping it over the console between the seats. The ‘Sons of Anarchy’ ink on his arm was covered by the sleeves of his shirt, but there was nothing he could do about the tribal tattoos on his head, seeing as he neglected to bring a hat with him.

“Did you let your dad know we were close?” He questioned as he climbed out of the van.

“I don’t have my phone. His car is still here, so he’s probably inside.”

“Okay.” Juice clicked the lock button before shutting the door and joining Stiles on his side of the vehicle. “Ready?”

“No.” The younger man shook his head. “But let’s get this over with.”

“Hey,” He wrapped an arm around Stiles shoulders to draw him in close as they started for the hospital entrance. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Stiles seemed to develop a case of lead feet while they crossed the parking lot. Juice was more or less dragging him along as they made it through the automatic doors. It was only when they found their way past the lobby and to the reception area that Stiles came to a complete standstill. Juice understood his trepidation when he saw who was there.

John Stilinski was pacing back and forth in the waiting room. He was on his cellphone, wringing his hands anxiously as he spoke, an expression of unadulterated fear etched on his features.

“Sheriff,” Juice called out to the other man, when it became obvious that Stiles could not bring himself to do it.

John lifted his head slowly to see who had spoken to him. His eyes went wide with shock when he realized who was there. He fumbled with his phone, hanging up on whoever he was on the line with and shoving the device into his pocket as he closed the distance between them. He grabbed Stiles by the shoulders, pulling him into a bear hug the moment he was within arms-reach.

“You’ve got to stop running off. You scared the hell out of me.” The tears in John’s eyes only served to amplify the tightness of worry on his face.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles voice was muffled by his father’s shirt as he buried his face in the crook of the man’s neck. “I didn’t mean to go anywhere. I was asleep and then I woke up at Juice’s.”

“I brought him here as soon as I realized he wasn’t, um,” Juice hesitated, unsure of what John knew or what he should tell him. “As soon as I saw the hospital bracelet.”

“Thank you.” Sheriff Stilinski offered him a look of gratitude over Stiles shoulder.

“Stiles,” Scott’s mother came out from behind the receptions desk to speak to him. “Let’s get you back to your room, okay?”

“I don’t want to go back to sleep.” Stiles took several steps back, nearly tripping over his own feet. He would have fallen to the ground if his father still hadn’t had a hold on him. “You can’t put me back to sleep.”

“You need rest. You’re exhausted.” The nurse reasoned sympathetically.

“You can’t put me back to sleep!” The younger man’s eyes darted to the door skittishly, as if he might bolt at any second.

“You’re starting to sound like the lead ditz from a Freddy Krueger movie.” Juice quipped in an effort to break the tension. It earned him an indignant glare from Stiles and identical looks of disapproval from Nurse McCall and Sheriff Stilinski.

“That’s not funny.” Stiles complained with a huff.

“It’s a little funny.” He smirked, pushing Stiles toward the nurse. “Go get some sleep.”

“I don’t want to.” Stiles argued pitifully, looking ready to stomp his foot like a two year old.

“You need to.” John told his son, eyeing the dark circles under his eyes, a visible sign of just how tired Stiles was.

“I’ll hurt someone or I’ll wake up somewhere else.”

“We won’t let that happen.” Juice promised. “Go on.”

“Come on, sweetheart.” Melissa placed a hand on Stiles back and guided him down the hall.

“Can I get a minute?” Juice asked John before he could follow the pair down the corridor.

“Yeah. Sure.” The Sheriff agreed, casting a singular glance to Stiles retreating form before giving Juice his full attention. “What is it?”

“You think he’s sick.” He noted in reference to Stiles.

“You don’t?”

“When your wife was sick, did she ever act like someone else?” There was probably a better way to pose the question, but he learned long ago that the direct approach was better when speaking to Stiles father. “Did she ever think she was someone else? Like a split personality, I guess.”

“Her personality changed quite a bit as she deteriorated, but, no, she never thought she was a different person.” John acknowledged with a tired sigh. “Her hallucinations were the worst.”

“Stiles has never said much about it.” Juice was not close enough to John to feel comfortable making inquiries about a tough time in his life. “I know it was rough on you both. Stiles would do anything to keep you from going through that again.”

“He used to ditch his babysitter after school, to come here and sit with her. He would read her a book or sing her favorite songs.” The older man grinned wistfully at the memories. “She had taught him to play guitar after she moved in with us. It was something they could do together. The hospital staff wouldn’t let him bring it in, it was too noisy, disruptive to the other patients. So, he would sing.”

“I didn’t know he could play an instrument or sing.” He had never seen or heard Stiles do either.

“He stopped after she died. While she was in the hospital, though, sometimes his singing would calm her down, but other times it would set her off.” John scrubbed a hand down his face as he continued. “She attacked him once, on the roof of this hospital. She thought he was trying to hurt her. The dementia made her believe he was a threat.”

“Was it bad?”

“Some scratches, bruises. It could have been worse. To him, it was nothing. He was more worried about her then himself. He tried to go after the doctors and nurses when they sedated her. He was so scared that they were hurting her. He kept saying it wasn’t her fault, because she was sick.” The Sheriff leveled him with a considering look. “Is that what you’re going to tell me if I ask about the bruises on your neck? It’s not his fault, because he’s sick.”

“Bruises?” His hands immediately went to his neck, to the spot where Void had attempted to keep the oxygen from entering his lungs. “It wasn’t Stiles. It was a club thing.”

“They look fresh.” John pointed out.

“They happened tonight, when I was with the club.” He lied easily, although he was sure the older man could see right through it.

“Right. And you got the bruises all over your face by falling down the stairs and running into a door.” The Sheriff called bullshit on his story. “Chibs didn’t give those to you, the same way Stiles did not give you the ones on your neck.”

“I never told Stiles that Chibs was the one who- Damn it.” He cursed himself for playing right into John’s hand.

“Stiles came home from Charming last week, ranting to himself about club members using violence to settle personal beefs. Yours and Chibs’ names came up a few times.” John explained. “And you don’t have to tell him. All’s he had to do was look at you to know who did the damage.”

“You think Stiles could do this?” He gestured to the bruising on his neck.

“No, but I never thought Claudia could hurt Stiles either.” He said thoughtfully. “I’ll tell you what I told him, just because he’s sick, does not make it okay.”

“I don’t think he’s sick.”

“You don’t think he’s sick or you don’t want to believe he’s sick?” John questioned. “We won’t know anything for sure until the tests are done.”

“Those tests are happening later in the morning?”

“Melissa has him down for the next available opening for the MRI, but it’s all booked up until after ten.” That was still hours away. “Hopefully, he will sleep for while.”

“Do you mind if I stick around for a few hours?” He planned to stay no matter what, but he kind of wanted John’s approval.

“I appreciate you bringing him home.” Juice bowed his head in disappointment, seeing that John was going to shut him down and send him on his way. “But I was under the impression that the two of you weren’t seeing each other anymore. Jax put his foot down or something.”

“He did. Stiles and I aren’t together anymore.”

It was one of the stipulations Jax had given him in order to keep his betrayal off the table. He decided Juice did not need Stiles as a distraction while he was earning the clubs trust back. Stiles had only gone along with it after Jax had implied that Juice would fall victim to friendly fire if they did not put an end to their relationship.

“We’re still friends.” Jax could put an axe in he and Stiles intimate relationship, but he could not erase their connection.

“What are you going to tell Jax if he calls to see where you are?”

“I’ll tell him I’m taking a ride to Yosemite to clear my head.” It was his go-to excuse when he needed a break from club shit. “Do you mind if I stay?”

“You can stay. I wouldn’t make you leave.” John assured him.

“Can I go sit with him for a while?”

“Of course.” Juice gave the older man a nod in thanks, but hesitated in walking off to the room. “Is there something else, Juan Carlos?”

“Stiles doesn’t want Jax to know about any of this. He doesn’t want to put more stress on his shoulders.” Stiles hated making the people he cared about worry. “I agree with that, but I still think we should call Tara. She’s a doctor. She could know specialists that can help him if he’s sick.”

“The only way that could happen is if she swore not to tell Jax or anyone else in Charming.” John deduced. “But Tara is in jail-“

“She got out two days ago.” Her case was not resolved, but she had been released pending the trial. “She would keep it from Jax if she knew it was what was best for Stiles.”

“She doesn’t need the stress either but I’ll give her a call anyway.” John removed his phone from his pocket and waved Juice off. “If Stiles is still awake, tell him I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Okay.”

He left the Sheriff in the waiting area as he trudged off in the direction Nurse McCall had taken Stiles. He had to duck his head through a few open rooms before he found the right one at the end of the long corridor. The door was only slightly ajar, but open far enough to give him a full view of the rooms occupants.

Melissa was standing off to the side, scrawling information onto a chart. Stiles was fast asleep on the gurney, an IV in his arm, and blankets pulled up high on his chest. Juice’s eyes caught on the bulk around Stiles wrists, and the lumps in the blankets around his ankles.

“You strapped him down.” The accusation in his voice must have startled the nurse if the cautionary step back she took meant anything. “Why would you do that? He doesn’t like being restrained. Why would you tie him down?”

“He asked me to.” She held up a hand defensively, as if she was afraid he might physically confront her. “He wanted to be sure he would not sleep walk again and wake up somewhere he didn’t remember going.”

He hated it. He hated seeing Stiles tied to a hospital bed like some out of control psych patient. It was all wrong. Between the restraints and whatever the nurse had given him to help him sleep he appeared nearly dead. It was that too still look again that bore an eerie resemblance to the thing that had been in his kitchen earlier in the night. Knowing that he could not remove the bindings without Melissa trying to stop him, he forced himself to ignore them.

He sighed heavily as he pulled a chair close to the bed, allowing himself to slump into it. He took one of Stiles hands in his and rested his head against the side of Stiles chest. He took comfort in the knowledge that Stiles was safe and finally getting some sleep as he dozed off himself.

* * *

 

Being able to nap peacefully in a hospital was pretty much a pipe dream. Juice and John had tried to rest alongside Stiles, but were continuously awoken by the medical staff entering the room to check Stiles vitals and to make sure the younger man was stable and prepared for the tests he would be having.

Stiles woke from his chemically induced slumber a little after nine in the morning. The few short hours of sleep had done nothing to improve his mood. He had been sullen and moody from the moment he opened his eyes. Even breakfast from his favorite diner could not lift his spirits.

“Eat some of that, Stiles.” John pushed the styrofoam container closer to his son.

“I’m not hungry.” The younger man sent the food an uninterested glance. “And Juice keeps stealing my toast.”

“You want it, eat it.” Juice challenged, holding a piece of the bread out to him, daring him to take it.

“That tricking me into eating thing hasn’t worked since you put on weight and stopped looking so emaciated.” Stiles rolled his eyes at Juice’s halfhearted taunt. “I’m too nervous about the tests to eat.”

“How the tests come back doesn’t matter. You need to keep your strength up.” John argued. “Just eat a little bit, please.”

“Fine.” Stiles agreed, but rather than dig into the food in the container, he snatched the toast from Juice's hand. “I’m surprised you’re still here, Juice.”

“You want me to leave?” He would go as far as the waiting room.

“No.” The younger man said quickly. “I’m just wondering where the club thinks you are.”

“Home. Asleep.” Juice had not spoken to them since he left the clubhouse the night before. “They won’t start looking for me until this afternoon.”

“And if you are still here when they do?” He shrugged in response to the question. “I don’t want to cause anymore problems between you and Jax or the club.”

“Let me worry about that.” Short of betraying the club a second time, there was not much he could do to further strain his relationship with them.

“Should I worry about what you’re going to tell them about the bruises on your neck? Chibs will assume you-“

“Autoerotic asphyxiation.” Of course, that would imply he had done it to himself and the bruising indicated another party was involved. “Hardcore sex that involved asphyxiation and a safe word.”

“You said we didn’t have sex!”

“We didn’t!” They made out a little, but that was it.

“I’m begging you both to stop talking.” John cringed, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else than stuck in a room with them.

“Sorry.” He apologized to the older man.

“Stiles, Jax and the club don’t know that you are in the hospital.” John let his son know they were respecting his privacy to that extent. “But not everyone in Charming is in the dark about this.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“We, uh,” Juice’s tried to think of a way to say it that would not set Stiles off. “We told Tara about your condition- _potential_ condition.”

“You did what?” Stiles shot up from the bed in a panic. “She’ll tell Jax!”

“She gave me her word that she wouldn’t.” John made an attempt to ease some of his son’s anxiety. “She won’t say anything to Jax or anyone else.”

“Why would you tell her at all?”

“It was my idea.” Juice confessed, willing to be the sacrificial lamb and take one for the team.

“I made the call,” John clarified, opting to take the brunt of the heat from Stiles temper. “I wanted a doctor we knew and could trust to consult on your case.”

“Tara is a neonatal specialist, not a neurologist.” Stiles gave them both an irate look that suggested they were both idiots.

“She’s a doctor.” Her specialty was not relevant. “She’s capable of reading an MRI.”

“Speaking of MRI’s,” Melissa, out of her nurses scrubs and in plain clothing, pulled their attention to the doorway where she was standing. “An earlier spot opened up. They can get you in now.”

“Okay.” Stiles pushed the tray that held his food away from the bed. “Let’s do this.”

“Wheelchair.” The nurse rolled the seat into the room. “It’s non-negotiable, you know that.”

“I’ll use the chair, but I’m not going to be able to use anything while I’m still tied down.” Stiles pointed out. The nurse who had come in earlier had only released one of his arms so he could eat breakfast.

“I’ll get those.”

Melissa made quick work of the restraints, unbuckling the remaining three. Stiles was a little unsteady on his feet, a side effect of the medication he had been given, Juice and John had to help him out of bed and into the waiting chair. Melissa made sure to remove the IV from his arm before deeming him ready to go.

“Juan Carlos,” She addressed him as they left the room. “You won’t be able to accompany him to the MRI. John is only being allowed in the viewing room because he’s family.”

“Oh, um,” He glanced down at Stiles, lowering his head to kiss the younger man’s cheek, causing him to scrunch up his face comically. “I’ll be out here when you’re done.”

“Get some coffee.” Stiles ordered. “You look like shit.”

“I’ll do that.” He would need it if he wanted to get through the day. “Is Tara going to be allowed in the viewing room?”

“She’s a consulting doctor, so yes.” Melissa nodded. “If she gets here on time.”

“She’ll be here soon. I told her ten, but she was planning to show up earlier so she could talk to Stiles.” John relayed. “Send her our way when she comes in.”

“Okay.”

He allowed himself one last look at Stiles before turning away. He swiftly made his way to the waiting room, passing Scott as he went, and resolutely refusing to give in to the need to follow Stiles and the others into the imaging room. Instead, he went to the coffee machine as instructed. The brew tasted like road sludge, but you couldn’t expect much for a $1.25.

“Juice,” He whipped his head around at the sound of his name, finding Dr. Knowles striding toward him from the lobby. “How’s Stiles?”

“Anxious.” Anxious and scared, not that Stiles would ever admit it. “They just took him back for the head scan.”

“I’ll go back in a minute. I want to talk to you first.” Oh boy, that sounded like fun. “What can you tell me about what’s going on?”

“Nothing more than John already has.” John had a better understanding of what was going on than he did. “He slept-walked, or drove, to my place tonight. He had no idea how he got there. He even cooked a meal before I got him to wake up.”

“Sleep walking isn’t new. Neither is sleep-cooking for Stiles.” Tara mentioned. “While I was pregnant with Thomas, I woke up in the middle of the night and found Stiles in the kitchen frying the steaks I had saved for 4th of July. It wasn’t until I tried to ask him what the hell he was doing that I realized he was asleep.”

“Huh.” He had written off the cooking as a thing that Void had done while pretending to be Stiles. “I remember him sleeping walking when he was younger. Jax would always find him at the park or on the clubhouse roof. This might be the first time he’s driven while asleep.”

“That’s dangerous.” That was putting it mildly.

“Did John tell you what he thought was wrong with Stiles?”

“Frontotemporal Dementia.” Tara acknowledged. “I’m not sure why he jumped to that conclusion.”

“It’s what his wife died of.” He was genuinely surprised she didn’t know that already. He assumed Stiles would have picked her brain about the condition in an effort to understand it, even years after his mother had passed. “He’s seeing her symptoms in Stiles.”

“We often fear the worst and the most familiar when someone we love is sick or hurt.” The doctor mused. “That doesn’t mean he has it. There could be an entirely different reason.”

“Dr. Knowles.” Scott broke into their conversation as he came up beside them. “They’re starting the MRI.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She gave Stiles friend a small smile before looking to Juice once more. “I covered for you with Jax. You’re playing my guard dog today.”

“Uh, thanks.” She had no reason to cover for him, but he was wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Stiles.”

The good doctor turned around and walked away without another word, leaving Juice and Scott alone in the waiting room. Rather than standing awkwardly, he chose to drop down into one of the available chairs.

“He’s not sick.” Juice told the wolf as he set the flimsy paper coffee cup on the floor beside his feet. “He’s not _only_ sick, if he’s sick at all.”

“What do you mean?” Scott asked as he sat down in a chair across from him.

“An illness would not explain Stiles newly acquired super strength.” Strength that Stiles absolutely did not have the last time they saw each other. “Or the fact that he can't cross mountain ash. Unless you turned him.”

“I didn’t bite him.” The alpha assured him. “Maybe the strength was adrenaline or something, like when moms lift cars off babies.”

“And the mountain ash?” Void-Stiles was obviously right about Scott’s unwillingness to see what was right in front of him.

“I don’t know but there has to be a reason. I’ll ask Deaton when I see him.” Consulting the vet was better than nothing, Juice supposed. “I told Stiles I would do something, anything, to help him with whatever’s wrong. If he’s sick, I might have to turn him.”

“He doesn’t want to be a wolf.” Juice knew that had more to do with Stiles not trusting himself, than it did with him not wanting to be a shifter. “He would probably make an exception if it saved his dad from having to watch him die.”

“He’s not going to die.”

“I know that.” He just was not sure if anyone else truly believed it.

“I have to,” Scott waved a hand to the other side of the room where a dark haired man, a little younger than Juice himself, was sitting. “That’s Derek. He’s a friend of ours. I’m gonna go give him an update on Stiles.”

“Okay.” He didn’t find Scott to be very good company anyway. “You remember Stiles rules about keeping Beacon Hills and Charming separate?”

“I remember.”

Juice was left with just his own thoughts once Scott was gone. His head was a troubling place to be during a dark time. It was always a loud place, the bad thoughts always at the forefront of his mind.

Today, those thoughts revolved around Stiles, and the possible outcomes to the current situation. Stiles was resilient. He could overcome anything thrown in his path, but everyone had a breaking point, and he feared Stiles might be pushed over the edge, depending on how things played out.

The thing inside of Stiles had proved it was violent, willing to kill. The volume of blood in the stolen car outside of Juice’s house was enough of an indicator that the Void had already murdered someone. Stiles may not have been the most moral of people, but taking a life would not be something he could simply brush off. His body being used to wreak havoc and destruction would leave a scar that would never fade, but it would not shatter Stiles. It would not kill him.

If the MRI proved that Stiles had the same disease that killed his mother, than there was only one of two ways it could end. Stiles steadfast refusal to allow his father to watch him deteriorate the way his mother had, would have him running away or taking his own life. Neither option was acceptable to Juice. He would do whatever it took to prevent the younger man from doing something he could not come back from.

“He’s gonna be okay.” Juice whispered to himself, screwing his eyes shut as he tried to visualize Stiles happy and healthy.

He let his mind wander to a time months before, when he had Stiles in the clubhouse. The younger man had laid himself across the couch, sunglasses covering his eyes in the darkened room. He groaned in pain whenever someone let the smallest bit of light in through the door, the hangover induced migraine as strong as ever.

_“So let me get this straight, you went shot-for-shot with Tara.” Juice snorted at how ridiculous that sounded. “And that led to this.”_

_‘This’ being a sorry excuse for a bird crudely tattooed on Stiles left forearm. It was Tara’s handy work, supposedly. He figured St. Thomas should be thankful that she was a better surgeon than she was an artist._

_“Yes.” Stiles nodded._

_“I can see that it’s a bird of some kind.” Bird, blob, whatever. “The only bird I could see you getting is-“_

_“It’s a freaking crow.” The younger man grumbled. “Tara asked if I ever sucked your dick and I said ‘yeah’. So she said I earned my croweater stripes or whatever.”_

_“Wow.” Seeing as Tara did not care for her own croweater tat, he was surprised she would ink a matching one onto Stiles skin._

_“Can you fix it or not?”_

_“I can fix it.” He already had his tattoo gun ready to go. “Do you still want it to be a crow or something else?”_

_“Crow.” He muttered, sinking down further on the couch. “Stupid rite of passage bullshit.”_

_“Just relax and try to focus on something other than the needle repeatedly jabbing your skin.” He chuckled when Stiles paled considerably._

_“That is so not helpful.”_

_The hangover symptoms seemed to help Stiles ignore the tattoo gun as Juice moved it deftly over his skin. Other than a twitch here and there, Stiles kept still and quiet. It was a little unnerving, unnatural for Stiles to be motionless and silent._

_“On second thought, it might be better if you paid attention. For all you know I could be inking my name onto your arm.” Juice teased._

_“So?” Stiles shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind.”_

_“I don’t know. If I did that, people might make assumptions about us.” Having another person’s name tattooed on your skin was a pretty significant thing. “They might think you belong to me or something.”_

_“I do.” Stiles admitted, pushing the sunglasses off his eyes and onto the top of his head._

_“You what?” He lifted his gaze from the crow he was drawing on Stiles arm to meet his eyes._

_“Belong to you.” The younger man said meaningfully. “Don’t do something stupid like say it back. We both know it would be a lie.”_

_“Oh yeah? If not to you then to who?” Stiles reached out a hand to tug on the collar of Juice’s kutte. “Oh.”_

_Stiles pushed his glasses down and tipped his head against the back of the couch. Juice took that as his cue to continue on with the tattoo. He finished it with only the sound of the club members milling about as background noise._

_“All right. There you go.” He wrapped the saran wrap carefully around the skin to protect his work. “You know the drill, yeah?”_

_“Yeah, I know the tattoo aftercare instructions.” Stiles pulled the sleeve of his shirt down over the covering as he stood from the sofa. “Thanks.”_

_“No problem.” He removed the latex gloves he was wearing and tossed them in the trash bin by the couch. “I’ve got to put some hours in at the garage. See you later?”_

_“Yep.”_

_Stiles cupped Juice’s face between his hands and leaned down to place a chaste kiss on lips. He pulled back with a content sigh and a serene look in his eyes._

_“Hey,” Juice wrapped his fingers around one of Stiles wrists as he spoke. “I love you.”_

_“Yeah.” Stiles faces broke out in a wide grin. “I know.”_

The clang of a door closing brought Juice out of the memory of the first time he had ever admitted his feeling for Stiles and back to the present. He looked up to see Tara walking down the hall, approaching the waiting area. His heart plummeted in his chest as he saw the devastation on her face and a single teardrop on her cheek.

“The MRI s-showed,” She cleared her throat as she struggled to speak. “It showed atrophy of tissue in two spots of his brain.”

“What does that mean?” He questioned, standing from his chair and shoving his shaking hands into his pockets.

“The tissue is shrinking in two separate areas of Stiles brain.” She explained clinically. “His doctor is confirming the dementia diagnoses.”

“After just an MRI?” That did not seem right at all. “Shouldn’t there be more tests?”

“Yes, and there will be.” She put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “But it won’t change what was on the MRI.”

“S-so what happens now?” What did they do to help Stiles? “His mom died of it, but things have changed since then. That was years ago. There have been advancements in treatments, r-right?”

“Juice, there is no way to reverse or stop this.” Tara broke the news as gently as she could, but it still felt like a punch to the gut. “The doctors will give him medications to control the symptoms, but eventually he’s going to become entirely dependent on someone else, a caregiver. And then, he’ll….”

“Die.” After all, it was the way every story ended. You could not escape death, he learned that a long time ago. “How long does someone with this form of dementia usually live?”

“Juice,” He hated that tone, the soft and pitying tone that was nearly patronizing. “I don’t know.”

“Tara.” Her refusal to say anything was enough to tell him that Stiles life would be a short one. “How long?”

“It depends on how the disease progresses.” The doctor told him solemnly. “On average, eight years, but there are cases-”

“Eight years.” It wasn’t enough. There hadn’t been enough time yet. Stiles had not had enough time. “No. That’s not- that’s not possible. It’s a mistake. He was fine. Just a few weeks ago, he was fine. Someone made a mistake.”

“Juice,” Tara tightened her hold on his shoulder to anchor him down. “John and I are going to speak to a specialist. We’ll get a second opinion. I will-“

A power outage cut off whatever Tara had left to say. It blacked out the waiting room and surrounding areas of the hospital. The backup generators kicked on quickly, but the lights continued to flicker. There were echoes of doors slamming and rushing footsteps over linoleum coming from down the corridor. All of it was drowned out by the loud boom of Sheriff Stilinski’s voice from behind the door of the imaging room.

“Where’s my son?”

**Author's Note:**

> [TUMBLR](http://www.stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/)  
> [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/user/SandM1827/)  
>  Thank you for all the comments and kudos, they are greatly appreciated.


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